Category Archives: Rants

Dear Relatively New Boyfriend,

I don’t know how to say this kindly: You stress me out.

It doesn’t bother me that you have a blue collar job, or that you don’t make a lot of money. One doesn’t need much money to have fun and live responsibly. What bothers me is that you spend more than you make, and then complain that you’re broke.

It’s very attractive that you know how to fix things, and I like when you take charge and make decisions about what we are doing for the day. But when you whine about how your mother treats you, I’m completely turned off.

It’s great that we can share a common interest, but when the only thing you like to talk about is motorcycles, I’m beyond bored.

You are more intelligent than other guys I’ve dated, and because of this, I don’t mind that you’re in your 30s and haven’t graduated from college. In fact, I don’t really care if you have a college education at all. But don’t complain about the one class you are taking or how much school work you have to do. And especially don’t complain that you’re in school because of your ex-girlfriend.

It’s nice that you spend time with your friends, and it’s a relief to see that you have friends. But when you say you don’t have time to do your laundry, and then talk about the pot you smoked, it pisses me off that you expect me to travel an hour to you when I have three jobs and have to use weekends to get my work done.

Most of all, though you are doing what you think is everything you can do to better your life, the fact that you have mostly negative things to say makes me think it’s your attitude that needs to be better rather than your life.

In short, I’m writing this to let you know that I am no longer your girlfriend, because I refuse to subject myself to your pessimism. Desire for a better life I can live with, but failure to see why your life isn’t better, inexcusable.

Enjoy your uncharmed life.

My Online Profile

Dating sites, except for Nerve.com, which is undergoing major changes, are not designed for edgy people. PerfectMatch, Match, eHarmony, and Chemistry are all about aspects of personality and character that only come out through romance. They don’t address the fundamentals of what it’s like to live together, except on a superficial level, such as how well a room is kept.

On one site, I got a lot of messages. I was proud of my profile. It was written in male-speak with no more than two lines per topic, titles, and concision. (I’m female.) And it painted a pretty accurate picture of myself down to my MBTI type. Met two guys from that site, both of whom are great guys. But I wasn’t attracted. (I like serious, logical guys who come across as arrogant but really aren’t.)

But tonight…

I accidentally texted the wrong person. Was trying to message my neighbor but the text went to a guy with the same name who was from this dating site. The guy got upset. Irrationally.

I knew from this guy’s profile that he used Evan Marc Katz’s method for online dating from the way his profile was written and the style of pictures. I also know this because of the timing this guy had in responding to my messages. It was textbook. But of course, I didn’t mention anything. It looks great and reads well, but I know this method. So, of course I was guarded.

Needless to say, I was totally turned off. Not only from this guy, but from online dating – again.

Anyway, I’ve been seeing someone I met at a birthday party, and things are going well, so checking out is no big loss. But as a writer and one having quite a few men hoping I will reciprocate interest, I decided to share exactly what was on my mind on my profile.

The following is what I wrote on it:

Not hanging out here much longer.

When you text someone, “Hope the [job] went well. Have a great week.” How should a person respond? Should she (he)? How would you respond? Well, someone who I never met face to face got upset because when that text arrived on my phone, the job was still going on. Didn’t know how to respond. By the time the job was over at 3:30 in the morning, do you think the first thing I wanted to do was respond? Nor did I remember to respond when I had to wake up to go to work in the morning.

Who hurt you?

In spite of whatever reason you can’t approach an attractive woman and start up a conversation, learn to do it. Just say, “Hi.” Because a virtual dating life is a joke.

Heal yourself.

Stop getting upset about trivial things and realize that people are guarded. There is too much hurt in the world, too much abuse. Men and women hurt each other because they are emotionally immature. And people are immature because they don’t heal themselves.

Nurture yourself.

Figure out how to break the patterns of your own resentment. Love exists. But the more you blame others for your own misery, the less likely you will find it. You have to love yourself before you are capable of loving someone else.

“Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.”

Can you put your name in place of the “love”?

Good luck.

So, maybe I should have texted back “Thanks”. But the guy seemed off, like he had some insecurities that were sure to come out at unforeseen moments, so I was unsure about responding. Then I just forgot about him.

People mistakenly text the wrong person all the time. As one who had done so, albeit to someone with more issues than Occupy Wall Street, the reaction is undeserved.

Until someone comes up with a better online dating forum, I’m offline and getting outside. Or maybe the thing with the birthday party guy will work out.

At least she likes you as a person

My friend’s words rang empty in my ears. That’s just great, she likes me as a person. I suppose that makes me fit for cat-sitting while she’s away with her boyfriend, or that if we were both at a party she would definitely not ignore me or run in the opposite direction.

Of course, talking to a girl about a girl tends to lead you down this path. I know my friend was just re-living her own dating antics. I’m sure at some point she genuinely liked a guy in a platonic way and was shocked that he didn’t consider that a good thing. Guys and girls think differently that way. Guys rarely utter the words, “I like you as a friend,” to anyone, let alone a girl (after all, you never know when a night of loneliness or drinks could end up a night to remember, right?).

Me? I’m going to be 32 in a few months and to be honest, I have all of the friends that I need. I’ve never been one to keep large groups of friends – I find trying to manage and maintain those friendships takes just too much time. So I’ve always kept to a relatively small group of close friends and then a larger group of acquaintances with whom I may occasionally get together, but who ultimately may come or go from my life without much regard.

This isn’t to say that I’m looking for marriage right now, far from it. What I am looking for is romance, intrigue, and yes, some sex would be nice. Liking me as a person doesn’t get me any of those things, and since there aren’t currently any openings to be a good friend, I really don’t see the purpose in continuing our interactions.

“I’m glad we had this talk,” she said, “so now we’ll be able to hang out in groups and do things together!”

Still not getting it. Rejection stings, and the consolation prize of being a friend doesn’t take that sting away. Though it’s nice that she doesn’t hate my guts or is completely revolted by my presence, there is no real future here. We’re not friends now, nor will we ever be in the future. You’re an acquaintance – someone I know, someone I’ll say, “hi,” to when I pass in the hall, and maybe even someone I’d stop and have a conversation with if the situation came up. But we’re not friends, nor will we ever be.

There Are Worse Things I Could Do

“There are worse things I could do,
Than go with a boy or two.
Even though the neighborhood thinks I’m trashy,
And no good,
I suppose it could be true,
But there are worse things I could do.

I could flirt with all the guys,
Smile at them and bat my eyes.
Press against them when we dance,
Make them think they stand a chance,
Then refuse to see it through.
That’s a thing I’d never do.

I could stay home every night,
Wait around for Mr. Right.
Take cold showers every day,
And throw my life away,
On a dream that won’t come true.

I could hurt someone like me,
Out of spite or jealousy.
I dont steal and I dont lie,
But I can feel and I can cry.
A fact I’ll bet you never knew.
But to cry in front of you,
That’s the worse thing I could do.”

Yes, I apparently like to start off blog entries with songs, and I’m going to refer to other songs throughout this post so be prepared!  “Yes, our teeth & ambitions are bared.  Be prepared!”  See?

I recently took a “Which Female Grease Character Are You?” quiz on Facebook and my result was *drumroll* Rizzo.  I actually wasn’t surprised.  I also took a “Which Sex & the City Character Are You?” quiz and got Samantha Jones.  Also not surprising.  I’ve always identified the most with the female character who has the most sex because they’re also usually the most confident, outspoken, uninhibited, and daring.  But they’re also the most misjudged.

What word comes to mind when you think of these characters?  Floozies?  Players?  Manizers?  Dare I say it – Whores?

I think that Rizzo gets a bad rap in Grease.  She’s known as the “town bicycle” who messes around with all the neighborhood boys.  She’s sexually experienced at a time when the innocence of Sandra Dee is celebrated.  I think that Samantha is the more socially accepted sexually-empowered woman of the two.  She’s “try-sexual” (she’ll try anything sexual), makes just as much money as the men in her field, and also plays that field quite well or even better.  Yet stuck at the back of everyone’s minds is still the notion that women who enjoy sex or tend to have multiple partners (in Samantha’s case, she is not relationship-centric) are emotionally unstable, easy, or cootie-magnets.

Why should you be emotionally unstable if you don’t want to be in a committed relationship but still want to enjoy sex?  Why should you be considered easy when you have a one-night stand (and it takes TWO to tango, so your partner is equally as guilty)?  Why should you be viewed as a cootie-magnet if you are smart about your sexual encounters and use protection and get regular STI screenings?  Why is it that you’re considered less classy than, say, a Charlotte York or a Sandra Dee just because you like to get jiggy?

Compare your initial thoughts of Rizzo & Samantha Jones to these male characters:  Casanova.  James Bond.  Both men are sexually promiscuous, but they’re considered legends & heroes.  What’s the deal?

Sing it, Christina Aguilera:

“If you look back in history 
It’s a common double standard of society 
The guy gets all the glory, the more he can score 
While the girl can do the same and yet you call her a whore.”

Break it down, Lil’ Kim:

“Check it – Here’s something I just can’t understand 
If the guy have three girls, then he’s the man 
He can either give us some head, sex her off 

If the girl do the same, then she’s a whore.”

Ugh.  Sick, sick, sick.  I hate that double standard.

I will admit it: I enjoy sex.  In fact, I like it a lot.  I’m uninhibited and adventurous in bed.  I’ve had a fair amount of sexual partners but not an exorbitant amount.  But I’m not a whore.  While I’ve engaged in the occasional one-night stand, I do prefer to have my sex within the confines of a monogamous relationship.  I feel that it builds trust and passion for a partner, not to mention that it’s safer in more ways than one.  But I even enjoy it while I’m single and casually dating because: 1) I like it & 2) I am smart about it.

Which brings me to my most recent sexual encounter.  I hit it off something great with this guy whom I met online.  We exchanged several e-mails, had several phone conversations, and then went out on a date.  He seemed like a serious and genuine guy, and I could tell that he was totally digging me.  I was really liking him so, contrary to the usual Kristine who rips off men-she-like’s shirts with reckless abandon, I was trying to keep my pants on.   I’m a cheap date in that it doesn’t take much alcohol for me to feel a buzz, but I never try to be a CHEAP date.  Then…Oops.  My bad.  I had one too many rum & cokes and ended up sleeping with him on the first night.  Damnit, Kristine.  Didn’t I say to keep it in your pants so as not to give off the wrong impression?  But he seemed like he genuinely still liked me even after we started to get down.  Mid-sex, he said, “Can we go out on a ‘real’ date after this one?  I’d like to get to know you and not just in the biblical sense.”  I love how “real” date means not-involving-drinking & not-involving-sex, but it was nice to know that he wanted to see me again.  And then he also asked me, “What do you want out of this?” which was really awkward as he was mid-thrust.  Let’s say I didn’t quite know how to respond, so I did not respond at all (Sorry, I had to throw in a little double entendre action in there).  However, in my profile and during our phone conversations I had stated that I was looking for a serious relationship, so I thought that my lack of coherent answer was covered at the moment.  Despite a pleasant morning-after, he never called me back nor did he respond to a text I’d later sent him.  We had also been chatting via instant message online, and he was not responding to my various attempts at conversation.  I saved myself a bit of pride by not directly calling him on the phone since I’d done a little bit of cyber-stalking by checking to see when he’d last been on the dating site.  Four days after the deed and his profile read “Activity within 24 Hours.”  It appears he’d moved on to someone who was “more serious about relationships” and probably deleted that message I’d sent him on the dating site.  Fail.  Date fail.

But this is where it gets annoying.  Men seem to think that just because I like to have fun early on that I cannot be serious.  Look: I’m of the mind that you should test drive a vehicle before you buy it.  And everyone’s got different requirements for horsepower and performance.  My Prius could be your SUV.  So for me, it sometimes gets hard to date people, especially when things get sexual.  I could spend 4 great non-sexual dates with you and then on the 5th date find out that we’re completely sexually incompatible.  And it’s not wrong to have sexual compatibility as a requirement for a successful relationship.

Then I’ve gone on a few dates with people where our personalities click and then we hit the sack and all hell breaks loose because they can’t seem to trust me based on the kind of sex we’re having.  I’ve been asked (mid-sex, mind you…yes, I engage in a lot of mid-sex conversations) “You seem like you have done a lot of this.  Are you sure you’ve only slept with (Insert Number Here) amount of people?”  “Uhm, you seem like you are having way too much fun.  Are you sure you’re clean?”  (I had a guy get up and leave during the middle of sex because he was afraid I was “unclean.”  What am I?  A prostitute in Gomorrah?  And dude, you’ve already put it in me.  Did you feel a vagina dentata down there or something?)  “You are a bit too much for me.  I had a different impression of you than this.”  (So apparently I look like a missionary as opposed to a reverse cowgirl.  It must be the glasses.)  Wham, bam, thank-you ma’am.  And I don’t get a phone call the next day, which completely boggles my mind despite the fact that I KNOW they were having fun during the act.  I actually got an answer from a guy who went MIA who told me that he didn’t trust me or what kind of person I was based on our sexual encounter.  REALLY?  You’re judging me because I’m uninhibited/not what you thought I’d be like in bed?

I think that women should be able to have sex as often as they want and in the way that they want and when they want, just as any person should, without the fear of stigma — as long as they’re smart about it.  Yet the fact still remains that woman have to deal with more consequences than men.  We’re the ones who are more likely to get the STI while men are more likely to transmit it without experiencing any symptoms.  We’re the ones who are left to hold our breaths every month and be glad that our period came.  We’re usually the ones who wonder why that great guy ditched us, which causes us to doubt our actions and ourselves.  It seems like we get twice the amount of responsibility but half the amount of the fun that men do when it comes to sex.

I know that people say that you should give off a good impression by keeping it in your pants until Date # (Insert Number Here).  I know that people say that you should keep an element of mystery about you and prolong the time between dates to (Insert Number Here) days.  But I was never one of those people.  I like to be straightforward and direct.  If I like you, I like you.  If I want to do you, I’ll do you.  If I seem interesting to you, then you’ll continue to be excited by me no matter how many times we go out or how many times we have sex.  If you want to see me, you will make it happen.  I would like to think that you know enough of my personality and what type of woman I am to know that I can be trusted and should be respected.  But don’t hold the fact that I don’t play the traditional dating game against me.  Or the fact that I like walking around with no pants.  I can only be myself.

There are worse things I could do.

TRUTH about cats & dogs

“It’s a given that all men are dogs. What differentiates each guy is how much dog is in him.”

I barely settle into my side of the cab and my college buddy starts barking his version of conventional dating wisdom at me.

“I suggest you tap into me to discern the purebreds from the strays in your life and NOT that silly book by Steve Harvey.” Davis glances down at the three copies I’ve got carefully tucked in a clear plastic bag for my gal pals. He’s determined to squeeze in brunch by the Bay before heading back to Tulsa. “You know a good guy will come along when you least expect it, or are looking for it.”

It’s obvious he’s caught wind of my recent internet dating fiasco. I suspected as much when both he and the girls were quite insistent that we meet up on this not-so-sunny Sunday morning. I try to fill him in on my latest mismatch: Mr. Persistent-turned-less-Consistent.

“Well, that could be a sign, but it also could be something came up.” Davis runs his hand through his chin length hair. Looks at my expectant expression and pinches my nose before it can wrinkle. “You should never read too much into what men do, because, quite frankly, we don’t know what the hell we are doing in most cases.”

“It just throws me for a loop. I like it when guys do what they say they’ll do. I thought we had that. It’s what I liked the most about him.” So I thought. I am SUCH the SUCKER.

“The guys you select just don’t know real talent when they have it in their grasp.” He shakes his wavy locks. “It’s just a shame.”

“You’re being sweet because you’re my friend.” My mood matches the forecast. It doesn’t help that I’m not a morning person.

“No. I’m telling you because you’re missing the point. The one thing I do know is that the more you women like a man, the more they get all scared.”

“Who does?” Davis wags his finger between himself and the driver. The driver glances back at us through his rear view mirror, his eyes crinkle in agreement. He’s got great laugh lines. He’s also got on a ring. On his left hand. Guess he’s not one of the strays.

Davis rubs the steamy window with his elbow. He squints at the street signs up ahead. “Make yourself a little mysterious. We love a good mystery.”

Here we go again. “I don’t get it.”

“Look, you know I think you are the sweetest woman I have ever met. Just real thoughtful and nice. And I am a total prick.” Davis guffaws. Maybe that’s a mark of a real man in the Midwest. Someone not afraid to carry around, then empty out, belly fulls of laughter everywhere he goes.

“So if I see it, you know darn well those soft guys you like will notice it, too.” He laughs out loud again at the look of horror I can’t seem to squelch these days. “The old adage, ‘don’t mistake kindness for weakness’ perhaps.”

This time, I groan loudly. “I barely know how to flirt as it is. Now that I’ve sorta got that down, what next?”

“What you have to do is be interested, but not seem interested. It’s a fine line to walk, but be more cat-like than dog-like.”

“What’choo talkin’ ’bout Willis?” The rain’s pounding on the cab’s rooftop now, matching the rhythmic thudding of my heart.

“You ever notice how a dog runs up to you when you come home?” I nod. He smiles. Doesn’t skip a beat and continues: “But a cat. Oh my, a cat does not seek you out. A cat has to be found.”

The gentle drum of the rain onto the roof of our cab does nothing to drown out Ra Ra Riot’s refrain ringing in my head …my bed’s too big for just me… I shake my head. Hard.

“Be more like a cat.” Just for the record, I abhor cats. Of any kind. Maybe it’s because I’m deathly allergic. “You are sweet with a heart of gold, but not every guy needs to know that from the start. And, lastly, mix it up just a little bit. Maybe you need to be more selective. A lot more selective.” No kidding.

It’s my turn to stare out the window. It’s all fogged up. So is the story of my current dating situation. Gotta love it.

“Just don’t play your hand too fast is all.” Davis hands the driver a twenty and slips out of the cab. He opens his umbrella and holds out his hand towards me. “Quality women usually get quality men. It just does not happen on the time table you may have set for yourself.”

PUPPETS, PIRATES & ICE-CREAM… Oh my!

“So this guy points out all our differences on the date…” Eddie wants a full rundown on my latest-and-greatest dating adventure. I’m trying to convince him that this taking-it-slow mantra is just not working for me. It’s not my style. Right?

“Wait, this is your second date?” He’s got his big brother glare up and running.

I nod. “So he calls me and leaves a message saying he wants to chat. I thought he blew me off. I’m so confused.” I hate being petulant. Dammit. “I don’t understand guys at all. I really, REALLY don’t.”

“He’s playing you like a puppet and you’re letting him.” It’s my turn to glare. “Do not give him the satisfaction.”

“Yuck!” It’s not my salted caramel and Meyer lemon ice-cream combo on a cone that I’m talking about. “So he’s NOT interested in me, huh? Is that what guys do? So what do I do? I don’t want to make the same mistakes in the future with other guys.”

Eddie finishes ordering his blood-red orange sorbet with creme-fraiche ice-cream in a cup. “I don’t know about that.” He thrusts his remaining two bucks into the tip jar. “But if you keep doing what you’re doing. Yes.”

I blink rapidly. The sunbeams are bouncing off the bright yellow interior of the creamery. I close my eyes to soak in the warmth of the rays on my cheeks. The caramel mixed with lemon tastes a tad bit saltier than I remember it being.

With any other person, this lull would usually drag discomfort along with it. Not with Eddie. I listen to him tossing names of some of the newer, more eclectic bands that are performing in town with the soda jerk behind the counter.

I feel a gentle nudge on my back. Eddie’s propping the door with one foot and studying my lack of expression. I step into the bright sunlight and squint up at him. Too damn tall, I tell you. He pushes my sunglasses down from my head to the bridge of my nose. I readjust them with my index finger. We start walking towards 826 Valencia. His niece’s pirate-themed birthday party is in a couple of hours and we’ve been assigned to pick up a few choice items for the festivities.

“This is what you do.” He’s not letting me off the hook so easy. Whoever said silence was golden wasn’t kidding. Too bad I’m partial to platinum. “Cherish yourself. Hold yourself in the highest regard. Always keep in mind that not any guy can have you because you’re very selective.”

“Jessica says I’m way overthinking things. That I’ve got impossible standards and I end up sabotaging my dates with them.”

Eddie stops short. I slow down and turn to look at him. My salty and citrus concoction drips to the pavement. “Is this what this is all about!?!? You know, I hate having to say this, but she’s the last person on Earth I’d listen to when it comes to dating.”

I grimace. He’s not a fan. I forgot about that. Jessica’s got this knack for rubbing people the wrong way. She claims she’s socially awkward, but still has an amazing ability to score a gazillion dates without blinking an eyelash. Even the fake kind. It floors me. Eddie knows this.

“I know she’s your friend,” here it comes. “But those guys she attracts in droves? Not the kind of guys you want.”

“Correction. That you think are good enough for me.”

He grins. Widely. I’m learning. He’s a proud Papa again. “All I’m saying is that you should hold onto these things and you’ll attract the kind of guys that you want.”

I playfully punch his left arm. His sorbet starts to topple, but Eddie skillfully saves it with a flick of his wrist. Whoops. Close one.

“Hey, I can tell you what to say forever in every situation.” Gotta hand it to him, he’s got tunnel vision. It’s a guy thing. Can’t shake Eddie once he’s focused. “But if you see yourself the way I just described…all of it will naturally come from you. You won’t need my help.”

“Nonsense.” My nose is doing that wrinkly thing again. “And miss out on all this fun?”

I toss out the rest of my cone. Just not in the mood, really. It’s a sad state of affairs. Ice-cream is supposed to make everything better. So I’m led to believe. Eddie hands me his. I muster up a lopsided smile.

“Hey. None of that. Okay? You’ll learn so much from every encounter. Before you know it, you’ll be giving me advice.”

DITCH those who go DUTCH

“How was the date with [fill-in-the-blank]?”

I get quizzed by my buddies every other day now about the last guy I’ve kept myself from swapping spit with. They’re harassing me for this new road-to-dating-recovery I’ve chosen to take. No PROMISE of SEX. Just the POSSIBILITY of it. And, quite frankly, it’s driving me nuts!

Then again, getting back into the dating groove has made me realize a lot of dating faux pas that I’ve been making. More so than blunders I’ve observed my date(s) make. It’s both refreshing and depressing at the same time. So I’ll give you ONE example.*

*Let me preface what I’m about to divulge with this simple fact: I’m NOT a golddigger.

FAR FROM IT.

So, ladies and gentlemen, I will say this once. DITCH those who insist upon (OR even suggest) going DUTCH on a date. And girls, if he allows YOU to pay on the first date — cut that date SO short, he’ll hear skid marks for the next few months straight.

Look, I’m not a Stepford-wife-in-training. Nor do I expect a guy to shell out for every single meal, drink or activity. NO. It’s vital that a woman push to pay for an outing once in a while, though initially, I am a HUGE proponent for guys picking up the tab. I believe it says a lot and sets the tone for how the date(s) progress(es). Really. I do.

Why? It goes hand-in-hand with Zack Taylor’s PURSUIT THEORY. That’s why.

Chivalry is NOT dead. It’s bit the dust in some circles, which is a damn shame. That’s why I’m determined to rectify it. Even if it takes one-post-at-a-time. Guess Ne-Yo is partly to blame by setting the tone with his YEAR OF THE GENTLEMAN. Chivalrous acts needs to come back. With a vengeance.

Back to my initial point: it’s just plain dumb on a guy and/or gal’s part to split the bill. Especially on the first date. Unless you’re NOT planning on seeing that person again, DO NOT go DUTCH!

Guys? It’s not too much to ask for you to shell out for that quick getting-to-know-you meal. If you’re afraid the girl is going to rob you blind because she’s a “golddigger,” then pick out a place that’s not too pricey, but quaint enough for her to be charmed into spending more time with you. Let her do the purse-pull, but INSIST on paying.

I’ve heard guys bitch and moan about how they like girls who are more independent and can pay their own way. That’s bullshit. You’re just lazy. You’re lame. AND you’re cheapskates. I’ve said it.

Girls? Don’t waste your time on men like these. No matter how HOT. How CHARMING. How O-mazing in bed he could possibly be. IF he doesn’t want to let you know he appreciates you showing up, prettied up and ready to meet-and-greet for the next few hours — DUMP HIS ASS. Don’t waste your time, unless you want to keep questioning the next five weeks, months, years if this guy is really into you or not.

DUMP HIS ASS. Really, it’s THAT simple.

Guys? If she INSISTS on paying for the first date? Think about it. Is this little act of independence really what it is? Or is it setting the tone for plenty of power plays to come? Gauge how graciously your lady of interest accepts your display of appreciation for her time and effort. Yes. She’s worth it. Let her know she’s making you feel special just by being there. You won’t regret it. The kind of girl you want to keep on seeing is the one that makes you feel like a million bucks for picking her. At least, for that particular date.

the POSSIBILITY of sex

“So you’re really back in the game, huh?” Eddie pushes the last piece of the mulberry tart towards me with his fork. I shrug. We’re both killing some time by grabbing a bite before heading out to a singles’-slash-benefit event in the Mission. I nudge the last bite towards him. Eddie’s got an insatiable sweet tooth. I wouldn’t even think of depriving him of this last choice morsel. He grins widely. “Just for that, I’m going to let you in on a little secret.”

“What’s that?” I reach for my purse. Eddie playfully swats my wrist with one hand and slips a crisp ten-dollar bill under our dessert plate. He’s quick.

I wrinkle my nose, then stick out my tongue. We’ve known each other since grade school. I’m allowed. He wags his finger at me knowingly. Eyes crinkle, followed by his killer grin flashing perfect pearly-whites. “Do NOT ever forget that EVERY single thing a guy does is ultimately motivated by getting more sex or reproducing.”

I blink twice. Really. No kidding. I roll my eyeballs and start to collect my things. Pashmina. Purse. I’m always forgetting something. Eddie snatches the coat I’ve left by the window ledge. The book tucked in my coat sleeve tumbles to the floor. It’s Steve Harvey’s latest concoction ACT LIKE A LADY, THINK LIKE A MAN. I grin sheepishly and try to grab it from him. “Funny you should say that, Ed.” I playfully punch his arm. “Steve says the same exact thing.”

Eddie’s got an iron grip. He flips open to the page I’ve bookmarked. “What’s this 90-day thing?”

“Kinda-sorta along the lines of what you’re saying.” I’m beet red. Eddie scans the chapter. “Hey, we’re going to be late.”

He doesn’t look up. I try not to fidget. I clear my throat. No response. Eddie’s still poring over the pages. “Actually, this guy is right. Never give up your ‘cookie’ right away. It’s your most precious gem.”

We lock gazes. I’m silent. Then I tap the back of my left wrist to indicate the time. He ignores the gesture and continues, “You definitely should save it for that special someone.”

I blush. Again. I’m pretty certain he’s poking fun at me. “You’re my own personal PSA.” Actually, more like one of those afterschool specials. What am I, thirteen? Eddie hands me the book. I stuff it in my purse. Time to switch gears. Sort of.

“Hey, thanks for heading to this singles’ shindig with me.”

“Sure. Anytime. Do you have your game plan down?”

“I have to have a game plan?”

“Of course.” He jabs the the crosswalk button with his fist. “You’ve been complaining about how you don’t want to be a buddy-collector anymore. You need a plan so that you don’t make the same mistakes.”

He’s right. Friendliness is both my biggest blessing and constant curse. I sigh. “What do you suggest?”

“Flirt.” Eddie stoops down to play with the labradoodle tied to the corner lamppost. He’s as much of a sucker for leggy-brunettes as he is for all of GOD’s four-legged friends. “Just a little. Learn how to use your eyes to flirt with a guy.”

I grimace. Flirting is not my forte. Especially not when I’m conscious of it. “And how do you suggest I do that?”

Eddie chuckles. The light turns green. He’s got a long, lazy gait that keeps me tottering in my four-inch CFM-heels just to keep up. “As you’re saying something funny, basically advertise the POSSIBILITY of sex and you’ll have many guys all over you.” He stops at the corner turns around to look at me and grins.

I reach his four strides in sixteen steps. Pathetic, I know. The cost of cute kills me. He gently grabs my elbow to avoid tripping over a nasty pothole, “But NEVER have sex with anyone quickly or easily.”

“Wait,” it’s my turn to push the button to cross to the other side of the intersection. “I’m confused. You tell me to flirt with the guy. Promise him SEX…”

“… the POSSIBILITY of sex.”

“Same thing.”

“Nope, it’s not.”

“So you’re telling me to be a tease.” I’m sure that my cheeks are fire-engine red at this point. Not so much from exertion.

“No, I’m just giving you advice on how to get guys to fawn over you.” We’re outside the venue now. He reaches for his wallet and motions for the bouncer to reject my attempt at paying. “Guys will bend over backwards if they think they have a chance… however slight.”

Eddie hands the coat-check girl our belongings. I slip the claim ticket into my purse and glance up at his six-foot-four frame. I quickly bat my eyelashes. He grins like a proud Papa and rumples my hair. “Ready?”

SINGLE-itis

I’ve come to rely heavily on Depeche Mode’s take on GOD’s bizarre sense of humor — especially when it comes to my dating life. It’s been six months (give or take) since the scolding I got from Karen at the clinic for not practicing better cootie control. I cried abstinence, so I guess GOD decided it was high time I partake in taste-testing some crow by exploring what Mr. Ethical Slut coined as “camel sex.”

Sure, I’ve been dating. Just not seriously. I’m not ready to be serious. At least, that’s what I tell myself and all my busybody buddies.

Speaking of which, I recently stumbled upon a bizarre realization that all my engaged/married friends expect to live vicariously through me. Which is sad. As of late, I really haven’t got much to offer in terms of entertainment value. It hasn’t been pretty trying to explain what it means to have camel sex. Those dinner party points drop faster than Tiger scoring down by Pebble Beach.

Last weekend, one of my favorite married couples invited me over to meet the newest addition to their family. I absolutely LOVE kids, so I couldn’t wait to meet baby Noah. Little did I know that three other married couples (and their kids) felt the same exact way. Oh joy.*

*Look. I have NOTHING against happily married couples. I’m simply stoked when they start popping out kids. I really, truly LOVE babies. Just not when they poop. I can handle barf. I can’t stand poop.

Which brings me back to another thing I can’t stand: how SMUG couples get. It’s inevitable really. They can’t help themselves. I’m convinced of it. The moment your friends enter couple-hood, they conveniently forget what it’s like to have the “-itis.” As in SINGLE-itis.

Had I known I was going to get ambushed with FOUR sets of happily-married-couples, I would have been better prepared for the emotional onslaught to come. HELL, I would have printed and passed out copies of Potted Plant’s 7 Things You Should Never Say to Your Single Friends!

Alas, I was not clued in this time around. So I braced myself for the worst. If you’ve seen BRIDGET JONES’ DIARY — just imagine that dinner scene with all the couples. It promised to get THAT bad.

The funny thing is, I’m not writing this to bitch about married couples. I also want to point out that I’m not an instigator by nature. Nor am I a trouble-maker. I’m a peace-loving kind of gal. Just don’t EVER patronize me about my SINGLE-itis.

I state this because I’ve come up with the BEST way to deflect attention from my SINGLE-itis. I’m going to share it FREE OF CHARGE. All you have to do is ask all the happy couples to relay the “STORY OF US.” It’s quite comical to see how extremely squirmy the adults get. Especially those of the male gender. I mean, you’d think that after making us SINGLE folks watch those damn wedding videos delineating the time frame from which person A was born to meet person B — they’d have their story down pat.

NOPE. Not at ALL. No WONDER they have those damn videos.

Let’s just say, by the end of the evening, I quickly thanked GOD for the sense of humor only GOD has. To place me in a situation where I initially was dreading to quickly finding myself thanking each and every lucky star that I have SINGLE-itis. That I still have ample opportunities to connect-the-dots around town and find someone worthy of memorizing the “STORY OF US” the way it’s supposed to be. By heart.

I Got Fluffed

Patience or denial? Um, that would be denial. I got fluffed. Played like a banjo.

I saved a low-level of optimism that that Sunday’s tentative wine-tasting date with Mr. Perfect would come together. After all, his efforts of pursuit had increased after Wednesday’s date, so there was hope he was “getting it”. On the flip side, I knew his company was firing a key executive on Friday, and that meant the likelihood that he’d have to work all weekend at about 99%. I didn’t care, this would be the test.

And of course, on Sunday, I was blown-off. I called in the morning to confirm plans, no return call. In the afternoon, I realized – ironically, before my blog was posted and Josh made his (psychic or experienced?) prediction – that eventually I would have to call his bluff. So I did.

The email I sent (after careful review by trusted friends), was simple and sincere. No drama, no psycho chick shit, just pointed, with a touch of warmth but clearly conveying – I was frustrated and ready to walk away. The essence was – you’re not being respectful of my time and interest, being busy is not a sufficient excuse, and it’s telling me that you’re just not that interested. In a different time and place I would have welcome a casual/whatever relationship, but now I was looking for something that has at least a chance of progressing forward. Even tentative plans deserve at least a “hey, can’t make it.” Period. So I left it in his court – if he thought we could work it out, I’d welcome the call. If not, best wishes, was nice to meet you.

It’s important to note that normally I would have ignored him and send him back to Doggy Training School, where silence says more than words. But I knew I had to test his oh-so-perfect words of Wed night about working things out instead of playing games. More than that, I keep getting advice to give men a chance and say how I feel, which is very, very, very hard for me to do. I sent the email to his personal address, and a note to his work email saying I had sent a message.

I got an immediate response – I mean, in seconds. He said he was slammed at work (surprise), but would check his personal email. Then, less than a minute later, a response: “Did we make plans for today??”

I laughed out loud. True, drink-induced date planning was probably not a great idea. Assuming we were on for Sunday instead on confirming, another mistake. Was he simply playing dumb? Or had I assumed friendly intoxicated banter meant a Sunday date? I wish I had posted my blogs in real-time, because then I would have known (based on the feedback) that he was playing dumb.

Can you hear the banjo music?

I didn’t mean to let him off the hook, but I think I sort of did. I communicate most things with humor, and in my reply (aka, “LOL, I guess drink induced date planning is not a good idea”), I inadvertently made it sound like it was no big deal.

It really doesn’t matter. A normal person with a functioning sensitivity chip would have at least called to say, “oops, sorry for the confusion.” The lack of a phone call told me everything I needed to know. This guy was a self-absorbed asshole or he just wasn’t that into me. Either way I lose. And more importantly, either way, I was a fool.

The realization should have been like a crisp and clear slap in the face, but honestly, it crept in slowly. I just couldn’t believe I got fluffed by this guy. I’m a reformed game player, skeptical, burned hard in the past, and as a result, slow to believe a single word that comes out of a man’s mouth. But somehow, I had allowed myself to believe – the connection, in every way, felt real. Conversation you can manipulate, but the unique physical chemistry too? Why invest in 4-6 hr dates with a woman you’re not really into? Why share embarrassing confessions or intimate details about the insecurities in your life with a woman you might toss away at any moment (that’s risky, we do crazy shit when we’re pissed and want revenge)? It just didn’t make sense.

But within a day or two, I realized none of it ever made sense. Again, props to our reader, Josh (who should start his own Relationship Crime Scene Investigation service) carefully picked out the inconsistencies from blog #1 on this. You know what the real mystery is? How the HELL did I fall for this BS? How did I let myself believe in anything this early? I KNOW better. Am I so desperate to believe in men and relationships again that I was willing to let it ride, even in the face of obvious and consistent red flags?

Oh, I talked to my guy friends and assured them this is EXACTLY why I don’t take men seriously and that I am going back to game-playing and using sexual appeal as a weapon. That I’m never going to tell men how I really feel because it’s always a big fucking waste of my time, and that the next time I sense an inkling, a sliver, a micron of taking me for granted I’m going MIA and that’s that. I told my girlfriends that I hope for his sake he never contacts me again or he’ll understand what it really means to be played, ‘cause I have all the time on my hands in the world to teach him what it feels like to feel stupid, that I’ll show him what being gamed really looks like.

That was just pain talking. Here’s the truth. My fear of being a bitter, man-hating woman is bigger than my fear of being duped or hurt. The truth is I realized through this that I am surrounded by a small army of wonderful friends who love me and are adamant I deserve better, cheering me on to keep trying and making plans to kick this guy in the balls if they ever see him. In all my stupidity and denial, I feel even more loved and valued by the people who know me.

So thank you friends, for keeping it real and not letting me wallow in self-pity. You’ve all convinced me I shouldn’t say no to the gamble, even if it doesn’t turn out the way it should.  It’s funny, I’ve been thinking a lot about my favorite game in Vegas, Let It Ride. Even when you’re dealt shitty cards, you can pull back your bet a little but never fold entirely. And those of you who have played with me know I always put $1 on the side bet – sure, it’s against the odds, but when you win, you win big. So I’m staying at the dating table, putting a $1 on the side bet to boot, and when I have a hand I think might win, I’m not going to pull back my bet, I’m going to let it ride.

So screw you Mr. Perfect Date.  The pain of losing this round will fade fast as a new set of cards are dealt.